


Hell or High Water

by headraline



Series: Come what may [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: +a random lesser demon, BAMF Aziraphale (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley (Good Omens), BAMF Crowley makes him horny, Established Relationship, Forces of Hell, Hell's turn, M/M, Minor Violence, No beta we fall like Crowley, Other, adrenaline rush, but just recently, but that comes later, ineffable husbands, leads to sexytimes against walls, post-battle rush, ppl throw hands, specifically Aziraphale's, squel to Set to Rights
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:55:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,880
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22229020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/headraline/pseuds/headraline
Summary: After hearing of Aziraphale and Crowley's supposed excapade in the Halls of Heaven, two certain Lords of Hell go topside to gauge the threat.They intend to find out exactly what Crowley is up to.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Come what may [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1600075
Comments: 10
Kudos: 86





	Hell or High Water

**Author's Note:**

> I've had this in my drafts for about a month.  
> A FULL MONTH.  
> But work was crazy, crazy enough that it was grating on my mental health and I gave my notice, and now I have to look for a new job.  
> Yay.
> 
> BUT! I finally did it. ♥  
> Enjoy. ♥  
> Sequel to [Set to Rights](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21300302/chapters/50722202) , it's probably better if that gets read first or a bunch of things won't make sense.

Things were, insofar as Aziraphale and Crowley were concerned, rather good, in the post-Armageddon't world.

The two debated over which moniker was a more apt play on words, when technically _Armageddidn't_ had the correct tense, while _Armageddon't_ had a better, more immediate sound, and _Nopeocalypse_ made a drunken Crowley laugh until he lost himself in hissing noises, full-on snake style, tongue out and everything –so it deserved at least an honorable mention in Aziraphale's opinion.

Michael was true to their pact, this time, and an official message from the Metatron was delivered to the bookshop, announcing all agents of Heaven had been ordered to stand down and leave the two of them be until further notice, which was as close as _'forever'_ as they'd get.

Of course, their luck dictated that the circle lit up just as they were sitting at Aziraphale's desk and snogging with the abandon only two entities who spent millennia denying themselves would have.

Or rather, the angel was the only one sitting at the desk— Crowley was rather sitting _on_ the desk, knees either side of Aziraphale's shoulders while the angel kissed his way steadily down the demon's torso.

So yeah, that was absolutely fine and not at all awkward.

At the very least, weeks went by and it seemed Heaven would keep its word for good –rumour had spread out, after the way they walked in and out of the Tower, and it possibly made even more ripples than their little body-swap stunt.

It was equal parts observation and luck that made Crowley spot the forces of Hell on his way out of his apartment and to the Bentley –he was supposed to go pick up Aziraphale for one of their romantic dinners in some hole-in-the-wall place that had, according to the angel, the best Turkish cuisine one could find, short of the Country itself.

The demon shook himself out of his little tangent and focused his senses where he knew Hastur was lurking –and it was Hastur no doubt, flanked by Dagon and some kind of disposable demon.

They lurked, but they did not approach.

Either it was still thanks to Aziraphale's little show, or word had got out that he had _melted off_ an Archangel's sword arm.

Both served Crowley well, if he was to be honest.

The smartest move would have probably been to book it to Aziraphale's place even if they would follow him —their respective residences were hardly a secret— but Crowley felt a little bit of grandstanding was in order.

With a snap of fingers, a startled Hastur was in the Bentley's passenger seat.

"Hi." Crowley said, with the same threatening edge to it that he'd had back when he dumped a bucket of Holy Water on Ligur. "You're making me late to a candlelit dinner, so how about I remind you that the powers of Hell have agreed to leave me alone and you do just that before I decide to do something nasty to you?"

"You're bluffing."

Crowley smirked at Hastur's knee-jerk reaction -time to milk this for all it was worth.

"Maybe I am, maybe I never wasss." He hissed in the Duke's ear. "Do you still feel lucky?"

Distantly, Hastur remembered taking the bluff for granted when he saw a droplet from Crowley's mister hit the demon's finger harmlessly, but after seeing him get in a tubful of the stuff and back out unscathed... he wasn't so sure anymore.

Hell had heard of Aziraphale's freakish immunity to Hellfire; so they all assumed for certain it came from the two of them somehow corrupting each other— and Hastur had no way of knowing when such a thing had occurred.

The Duke was still convinced it had to be some sort of trick, but was he willing to risk his own skin to prove it?

As they would say... _Hell, no._

Hastur disappeared from the Bentley without leaving a single worm behind; and Crowley let out a small chuckle to hide the sigh of relief.

"Didn't think so."

He still felt watched when he reached the bookshop, and he knew Aziraphale could sense it too once their gazes met across the table in their little restaurant and the angel's brow rose slightly.

"Unwanted tagalongs?"

Crowley made a show of shrugging as if he didn't care, though Aziraphale could see his worry plain as day, even with the glasses on.

"What can I say? I half-melted an Archangel, folks down there are probably curious. Or jealous. Or both."

The display of cockiness was as over-the-top and annoying as Aziraphale had been during the trial—Crowley's own suggestion: 'Make a show of it' he had said, 'They call me the flash bastard, live up to that name'... Aziraphale hated that Crowley'd had to put forward an entire persona, be someone who wasn't himself, just to keep Hell off his back and protect their friendship. The constant fear of torture and punishment had led to such a carefully crafted air of nonchalance that, sometimes, Aziraphale had almost believed Crowley didn't care as much as he did, when nothing was further from the truth.

As much as he hated seeing Crowley act like that, the angel saw pretty easily what his demon was going for: scare tactics.

Chipping away at the observer's confidence on the off chance they would have to fight them was an excellent idea, so Aziraphale smiled and nodded.

"My dear, I really must thank you again for coming to Heaven with me."

"It was nothing, angel."

"Well, you did help me convince the Host to surrender."

Crowley surprised Aziraphale by openly grasping his hand over the table for everyone to see.

"For you, angel... I'd watch Above and Below _crumble to ashes_."

Aziraphale did his best to hide his surprise: such a confession was not unlike Crowley— he'd been doing it all along, part of the angel's mind pointed out, remembering phrases like _'even if this all ends up in a pile of burning goo we can go off together!'_ or _'I'll give you a lift, anywhere you wanna go'_ before that, and _'little demonic miracle of my own'_ further back.

What was different his time was that he'd said the words in full view of the forces of Hell, showcasing a perceived vulnerability— Aziraphale despaired to think of what they could do to Crowley to watch him suffer, or that they would torture his demon by hurting him. He did not fear pain, but he knew Crowley would hate to watch it...

Admittedly, it took the angel a moment to figure out where Crowley was going with this: true, they had faked their invincibility, but the one thing that _truly_ had no match was their Love, almost as old as Creation itself and twice as complex.

Crowley was establishing for certain that, should anything happen to one of them, the other would see the Skies and the Pits alike torn to shreds.

Let them see. Let Hell bear witness to the real force Heaven had had the sense to surrender to.

Aziraphale turned his hand to entwine his fingers with Crowley's and smiled, eyes shining just a slightly brighter blue than what natural light would make possible.

"So would I, my dear." He leaned forward over the table to kiss his demon, but instead of making it the chaste, sweet thing that graced the halls of Heaven, it was instead something more languid, just as sweet but also bolder, a touch darker and with a far more liberal amount of tongue.

The prying occult forces spying on them disappeared after that, and stayed a good distance away for the rest of their lovely dinner.

As most good things, though, it didn’t last.

They were just walking out to get back to the Bentley, when the demon stopped in his tracks.

“Are they… here?”

“Oh, they are.” Hastur, Dagon, and what Aziraphale could only assume was a poor sod made to be cannon fodder emerged from the shadows in answer to his question.

Crowley sent the angel a subtle look and Aziraphale nodded. Suddenly, every human in a mile-wide radius had the urge to be somewhere else, and fast.

“Rearing up to fight? But we’ve done nothing to you.”

The Duke’s hoarse drivel was already grating on Crowley’s nerves, but he didn’t let it show.

“Yet.”

“Duke Hastur.” Aziraphale interjected between them, “I’d ask to what we owe the pleasure, but we all know that seeing you and your lot is as far from my idea of pleasure as can be.”

Hastur shoot a disgusting leer back at him.

“I don’t know, angel, you seemed pretty pleased to be in demonic company, not too long ago—”

A very peculiarly localized bolt of lightning hit the ground millimetres away from the spot Hastur just barely jumped out of.

“ _You_ don’t get to call me that.” Aziraphale hissed in a way Crowley was proud of, “And that was a _warning shot_.”

“You don’t frighten me, Principality.”

“I should hope not. I’ve always found _posturing_ to be crass and unbecoming.”

Crowley wondered if Hastur was even aware of Aziraphale’s scorching clapback for what it was— the Duke was far from stupid, but none of them were well-versed in Earthly customs or languages enough to appreciate that type of delivery.

For his part, Aziraphale just carried on as if discussing the weather:

“Besides, I’m not sure it is _me_ you should be frightened of.”

Three pairs of demonic eyes went to Crowley.

In the interest of selling it, he deliberately took off his glasses to show his Serpent eyes. Some of the smarter demons, like Hastur, had correctly assumed the sunglasses were a shield of sorts— now, his angel had given him the perfect opportunity to show the forces of Hell that, once they were off, it was the ones who dared gaze upon him that no longer had a shield.

“He’s not wrong.” Crowley drawled, making a considerable effort towards looking bored and not at all terrified for Aziraphale, “I don’t have to worry about you prats hurting him, because you simply _can’t_ …and there’s nothing you can do to me that will ever sssstop me from sending your miserable ashes to Ssssatan himself, if you lot even tried.”

His hissing became more prominent as fangs elongated in his mouth and the sclera in his eyes completely yellowed out.

Hastur was not completely impressed, possibly from having been Crowley’s handler for so long and used to being his ‘superior’.

“Let’s test that.”

The Duke still made one fatal mistake: forgetting that Crowley was a Serpent.

In a fight where Hellfire would largely be useless, or worse heal his enemy rather than hurt them, Crowley called upon his demonic powers to channel them into different aspects instead of just creating Hellfire –he was imaginative like that.

Ordinarily, snakes were either venomous _or_ constrictors, but Crowley was no ordinary snake, and did not see any problem with being able to do both. One trait that all different type of snakes did share, though, was speed— which the demon used to put himself between Aziraphale and Hastur just as the Duke tried to fire off a blast of Hellfire at the angel.

It hit Crowley square in the chest, and he made sure to absorb every last lick of flame.

He’d have to be careful –even though one fight was probably not going even _remotely_ into M25 levels of Infernal Fire, there was such a thing as too much of it. Still, grandstanding at this stage was essential to keep control of the battle. They just needed to end it quick.

“Hmmm… tingles.” Crowley whispered, shooting a hand out to grab Hastur’s still outstretched wrist and hold it in place.

In their original Plane of Existence, Hastur was a much stronger force than Crowley and would pulverize him in a fair fight; but here on Earth, playing it fast and dirty, the Duke of Hell was not only inexperienced with the limitations of a physical corporation, but was also not very creative with pushing them.

Before Hastur could think to snatch his arm away, Crowley tugged on the captive appendage and sank his fangs into it. It likely wouldn’t be enough to discorporate him, but a physical body was still just that; and as such a neurotoxin would at least paralyse it.

The Duke let out a scratchy, shrill scream and shook himself out of the grip, sending Crowley stumbling back into Aziraphale, who took his demon’s weight with only a small exhale of surprise and wasted no time in thinking of a potential makeshift weapon.

“May I, my dear?”

Crowley tilted his head to give his angel access to the back of his neck and simultaneously let his wings loose around Aziraphale, to cover him from the oncoming Hellfire blast announced by a frustrated growl to their right –he absorbed the flame once more.

 _“Two.”_ He whispered to himself, trying not to think back to Hastur dissolving in his car on the M25 –he was there too, and he _hadn’t_ discorporated. He could do this.

 _They_ could do this.

Their intimidation tactics seemed to have paid off so far: even though they were virtually surrounded, their opponents seemed reluctant to get too close.

“This is the best you’ve got? Really?” Crowley asked, letting himself move a little bit to the left and revealing Aziraphale, holding a chain that was previously just a necklace around the demon’s neck and was instead engulfed in Holy Flames, now.

“Well? Come on, _do something_!”

With a none-too-gentle shove from Dagon, the lesser demon was made to advance, and was visibly trying to psych himself up to rush Aziraphale.

The angel sidestepped the frontal assault easily and discorporated the attacker with one swift whipcrack across the back of the neck.

Gone, in a puff of smoke and demonic ash.

It nearly gave Crowley pause: _he_ wasn’t just any lowly demon, in 6000 years his physical body and his essence had developed a special kind of bond; but he was fairly certain that, had it ever come to that, Aziraphale could have one-shot him, too.

Instead of feeling afraid, Crowley was proud.

It felt so Goddamn –or God-blessed– good to know his beloved was an absolute _beast_ coated in a deceptively soft, loveable exterior.

“Two on two, now _that’s_ more like it.” He said, making a show of licking the tar off his lips from the bite he gave Hastur –calling it blood would have been an insult to all creatures that could bleed.

Subtly, the Serpent miracled the stuff off his tongue and underneath his feet, though it still left an awful aftertaste. Crowley forced a smirk through the disgust:

“Who’s up for more?”

Hastur was much less scary to fight with only one functioning hand— the Duke’s left arm hung limply from his shoulder, making him a bit slower and slightly off-balance.

Crowley had never been the most experienced of fighters, but he was scrappier than he looked and Aziraphale was pleased he didn’t have to worry about his demon.

This time around a small reversal was necessary, if anything –the faintest touch of Hellfire would give up their ruse, and a consistent enough hit would destroy him. They were both keeping a careful eye out for Infernal flames, but Aziraphale also took care to move in such a way that he would always ‘happen’ to be within Crowley’s wingspan.

It was surprisingly hard to keep up with Crowley in a real, life-and-death fight: the demon moved in leaps and snaps, serpentine and sudden in every gesture, circled out of melee range when attacked and then back in to strike with a rather surprising grace, all things considered.

Aziraphale found it exhilarating, to be back to back and battling the forces of Hell together.

Fighting with a chain rather than a sword, as if he was in some sort of brutish biker gang, did not fit the angel’s usual preference, but he’d make do for the occasion— the chain was a less than ideal weapon, forcing Aziraphale to think in swings and lashings rather than lunges and parries, and he was slower because of it. It would have been fine against a regular demon –possibly even against Crowley himself– but Dagon was the Master of Torments, they knew how to exploit weaknesses, no matter how small.

No doubt they’d be at the very least evenly matched in a regular fight, but between the angel’s ‘improvised’ weapon and his restricting his movements within Crowley’s wingspan; Dagon eventually found an opening.

They endured the burn of Celestial Fire long enough to grab the chain Aziraphale was swinging and tug it towards themselves, rather than trying to duck away from the Principality.

It hurt like Heaven and the scar for it would probably ruin their corporation’s hand forever, but it gave Dagon the chance to wrench the object from Aziraphale’s hand and wrap it around the angel’s neck.

“Stop!” they bellowed, turning the angel in their arms so they were facing Crowley as well. “Make one more move and we will test exactly how invulnerable your little angel friend is!”

Crowley abhorred Hastur and the idea of touching him, but he needed to think fast, before Dagon actually decided to light the chain with Infernal Fire. One last serpentine lunge and he had Hastur gripped tightly, one hand painfully closed around the elbow that wasn’t paralysed and the other clasped around Hastur’s neck in a chokehold, keeping the Duke’s head at an angle that exposed the jugular to Crowley’s fangs.

“Would you look at that?” he asked, with as much bravado as he could muster, “An impasssssssse.”

“You think your tough act can fool me?” Dagon scoffed at him, “If you think you need a hostage, then you’re scared I’ll hurt your precious angel. Hastur is stronger than you anyway, go ahead, bite, see what good it does!”

The chain started glowing as if held over a burning forge. Clearly, Crowley needed to up his game.

“I’m not scared you’ll hurt him…” he explained, with a flippant sniff, “I’m scared you’ll piss him off. The only reason we’re all still standing is because he’d prefer not to hurt _me_. Else he’d have already blasted you lot into oblivion.”

It wasn’t completely incorrect. A thorough smiting wouldn’t _really_ catch Crowley in the crossfire, but it was a possibility. Plus, Aziraphale could only be sure to completely destroy _one_ demon with it, which would leave him exhausted to face off the survivor and a liability to Crowley.

“You expect me to believe that?” Dagon tightened the chain around Aziraphale’s neck, pushing out just enough demonic energy that it would have started to sizzle, by now… Aziraphale’s saving grace, pun not intended, was that for the past 6000 years he had been, indeed, ‘consorting’ with a demon and so he _did_ have a bit of a tolerance, at least for such low amounts of demonic energy.

The two realized this at the same time, looking into each other’s eyes, and Crowley let his grin grow and a little more of his true form shine through.

He was a man and a snake at the same time, black and red scales overlapped human-looking skin so that it would look one way and then the other in-between blinks, like a radio wave flickering between man and Serpent, at the same time both and neither— looking at him was like trying to look at stars in the sky with the naked eye: one could only catch a glimpse if they _weren’t_ looking right at him.

Despite himself, Aziraphale drew a small gasp. Crowley was terrifying… and absolutely beautiful.

“Sssstronger than me…” his demon hissed, staring down Hell’s Head Torturer with an indeterminate amount of golden eyes, “Are you willing to bet money on that?”

Dagon’s hold on Aziraphale faltered, but did not break yet.

“You’re faking it.”

“Am I?” Crowley echoed, “Just to remember, _who_ got disssscorporated on the M25? And who _didn’t_?”

It was only then that Hastur started taking the threat seriously and began trashing about to get free.

Crowley definitely wasn’t the strongest demon around, and even his corporation was average at best, but, channelling enough demonic power into it, he had all the grip a constrictor would be capable of. And nothing would escape his spires once captured.

“Sshhh… it’s no use. You won’t move an inch until I _allow you to_.” Swallowing back his own disgust, Crowley let his open fangs hover over Hastur’s neck, going as far as breaking the surface slightly, letting black blood ooze up to the surface. “You lot already lossst one Duke to me, Dagon. What will they think Downssssstairs? If you go back having to tell them you failed ssso sssspectacularly?”

“You… you’ve never been a fighter! Even if you kill Hastur, I can take you!!!”

Compared to Crowley’s carefully measured whispers, Dagon’s voice was elevated to the point of shouting— Aziraphale recognized the type of reaction: fear, panic even, bordering on hysterics.

It was his perfect chance to strike.

He felt one of Dagon’s hands go slack, so he put his own over it and heaved forward.

**“ _Get thee behind me, foul fiend!_ ”**

It was probably a risk to get his wings out, but the close proximity meant that they knocked the Lord of Hell right in the face and pushed them back as well, overextending Dagon’s arm and allowing Aziraphale to lift them off the ground and over his shoulder, dropping them back down as if they weighed nothing.

The booming, chiming and strident sound of his true voice did the rest, in terms of stunning all demons present into silence.

Luckily, the first one to recover was Crowley, who was looking at him with a loving sort of awe and slightly dilated pupils –there was probably some talking to be done about finding mortal danger attractive, but Aziraphale was not in the position to judge.

“See?” the Serpent asked, a little breathless, “I was doing you lot a favor. If I were you, I’d make myself scarce before the extra eyes start popping up.”

For a second, Crowley almost pitied the demons— after ‘his’ trial there was probably much more disorder in Hell than whatever Heaven had faced, and the Lords of Hell probably thought coming topside to mess with him could have been the display of strength they needed to prove they were still in control… but then again, they tried to harm his angel, and whether the Pits thrived or collapsed was not his concern anymore.

Dagon scrambled to their feet and as far away from Aziraphale as possible.

“If you think you’ve won—”

“That’s enough!!!” a new voice called out, as another figure emerged from the asphalt, in a mist of flames and soot.

“Lord Beelzebub.” Crowley greeted, sickly sweet, “Come to pick up your _best and brightest_?”

The sarcasm was palpable. The Lord of the Flies tried to look unimpressed, but kept a safe distance from the angel –who was now by Crowley’s side and glowing dangerously with Holy Light.

“What were you idiots thinking?!” Beelzebub asked the other two.

To his credit, Hastur tried to stammer out an explanation:

“I— I thought, if I could prove it was a trick—”

“Shut it!” the Prince snapped, “Clearly, it doesn’t matter. Now come back down, if word gets out he almost discorporated you again _and_ he and his angel friend trounced Dagon there really will be a riot in Hell; and I will _not_ have the Legions of the Damned revolting because of you two jackasses. Now fall back into the ranks!”

Dagon, terrified and wounded but free to move, was quick to rush at Beelzebub’s side. Hastur had no such freedom.

Crowley briefly tightened his grip on the Duke.

“I never want to ssseee _any_ of them sniffing around me _or_ my angel ever again.” He demanded, staring down the Prince, “We don't want to stir up trouble. We just want to be left _alone_. I mean it. Or the Legions will find out exactly _how_ I was able to melt half an Archangel.”

Beelzebub nodded stiffly, and it was enough of a concession for him to finally loosen up his grip and shove Hastur in their general direction.

“Ah, not to mention I’d sic _him_ on you lot.” Crowley added, jerking a thumb in Aziraphale’s direction as the angel’s wings fluttered at his side, “You ssseee, we love each other so very much… anything happens to either one of us, the other will make the ones responsible not only wish that Armageddon had happened, but that they had been never _created in the first place_.”

Beelzebub tugged Hastur harshly to stand up.

“Fine.” They huffed.

“Word!” Crowley countered, with an authority in his voice Aziraphale was unfamiliar with, but not at all displeased by.

“On the Nine Circles of Hell, I promise no demon will ever be ordered—”

“—or allowed!” Crowley was a connoisseur of loopholes, and that one didn’t escape him.

“— _or allowed_ …” Beelzebub continued with a pointed eyeroll, “To come up to Earth to attempt to hurt you _or_ your angel.”

“And Dagon will mail an official contract of those terms to my flat within a week from now.”

Another terse nod.

“We done here?”

Crowley’s lips stretched into a fanged grin.

“Take them _crawling_ back where they came from.” He said, with a deliberate choice of words, “And file this incident under ‘sweet, _ssssweet_ irony’.”

It had been a long time since he’d last been ‘Crawly’, but the sentiment was there.

The three demons disappeared into the deeper bowels of the Earth; and Crowley barely had the time to shorten his teeth into something vaguely human before Aziraphale was kissing him passionately, backing him up against the closest wall in the alleyway they had been cornered in.

“My dear…” the angel said, between kisses, “Forgive me for being so forward out in the open, but—” again, he tried to both speak and chase Crowley’s lips at the same time, “—that was _insanely hot_.”

“Angel—” the demon tried to voice his approval of Aziraphale being as forward as he wished to be but, judging by the way the angel turned his head and started mouthing a steady line down Crowley’s neck, he didn’t need to –Aziraphale could very much tell, and was anticipating him.

“You know… this place will stay deserted for the next half hour, at the very least…” Aziraphale whispered, reminding his beloved of the small miracle he performed to keep humans out of harm’s way in a hypothetical battle royale.

“Will it, now?” Crowley felt more than saw his angel drag both hands down his body until they could be hooked under his thighs; but he still gasped minutely when he felt Aziraphale hoisting him up, back still against the wall.

In the last few weeks, Aziraphale had taken a liking to lifting Crowley up and pressing him against surfaces –he now understood his demon’s penchant for doing it at the drop of a hat: the heady rush from that single action alone was enough to get someone going, as one would say, and _oh Heavens,_ it got Aziraphale going.

It helped that, with his relative understanding of gravity and only half a mind to follow it, once he was propped up against a flat surface Crowley could hold his balance better than most.

Aziraphale could feel the demon’s slim thighs lift up and around his waist; it made the angel grin against the skin he was uncovering slowly down the deep V of Crowley’s shirt.

“Come on, love, I know for a fact you can coil tighter than this, you wily serpent.”

Crowley chuckled somewhat darkly, but obliged— Aziraphale had to wonder for a moment what it said about him that, as much as he loved Crowley for being sweet and compassionate like no demon ever could be, he was also very attracted to the more dangerous sides of him: the wild impetus, the secretly sharp teeth, the fire coursing through his very veins and, the angel thought with a shiver, the eventuality of having his neck crushed and snapped between the thigh that were lovingly resting against his sides at the moment.

“Azira _phale_ —” Crowley’s call hitched in his throat with a gasp when the angel shifted between his knees, so he could grab the demon by the underside of his thighs and _lift more_.

Had said demon been able to think more about it, he’d have probably been grateful to be able to play it fast and loose with gravity, especially once he understood what exactly the Principality was going for, placing each of Crowley’s legs neatly against each of his shoulders and nosing his way to his _prize_.

“Aziraphale… they could still be watching…”

“Let them.” The angel spoke possessively, words coming in hot puffs of breath against Crowley’s inner thigh, “Let the forces of Hell see that the demon Crowley is not only immune to utter extinction, but has a Principality of Heaven ready and willing to commit idolatry and worship his cock."

Crowley poorly attempted to stifle a full-body shiver at those words, while his angel unfastened his trousers.

“Oh fuck me, Aziraphale—”

“Patience, my love. Later, if you’re _good_.” Aziraphale knew well that Crowley secretly got a kick out of him being ‘inappropriate’ and had long since gotten over the embarrassment of having his fantasies ‘found out’. “If you can still stand when I’m done with you, maybe you can have your way with me on the backseat of the Bentley.”

The demon almost growled at him to shut up or he wouldn’t last, but Aziraphale was already ahead of him and just took Crowley in his mouth without further hesitation.

“Angel…”

While on the subject of knowing each other so well, Crowley knew that Aziraphale loved to find new and exciting ways to reduce him to a stuttering, quivering mess.

Granted, it was much more recent knowledge compared to other, just as intimate things he knew about Aziraphale, but it was also the one thing he could focus on at the moment: Aziraphale’s pleasure at seeing _him_ pleased.

So Crowley did not hold back, he shamelessly bucked his hips into the all too willing mouth, pushed his shoulders against the wall behind him and let the angel grip his thighs hard enough to leave the delicious reminder of finger-shaped bruises.

“Aziraphale…” the demon called out his beloved’s name freely, as he had never been allowed before, like an intoxicating new treat he’d never get tired of; because he knew what the angel would say, if only he could talk and keep going at the same time:

_“Let me hear you, my dear. Oh, you make the most delicious sounds.”_

And it was there, in the way Aziraphale’s eyes never left Crowley’s, drinking in the sight like the unrepentant hedonist he was.

_“Let me watch you come undone under my tongue, let me taste your pleasure in my mouth. Oh, love, just a little more…”_

It didn’t take long for Crowley to lose himself to the onslaught, and he came like that, suspended between the wall and the sturdy frame of Aziraphale’s arms, throwing back his head hard enough that it knocked against the surface behind him.

Not that either of them cared in the heat of the moment.

“You are so beautiful.”

Aziraphale whispered adoringly to his demon, letting Crowley down to a normal standing position and heling him do his trousers back up.

Distantly, Crowley became aware that no small, discreet miracle was necessary to clean himself up –his angel had held fast and swallowed for him in a way that some men had been turned into salt for, back when God was not above being petty and sent out angels who were even pettier than She was.

But those weren’t memories Crowley cared to relive, not when his angel was there and cradling him softly against that bountiful chest of his.

The demon smiled.

“So are you, angel.” He said, “You should see yourself like I see you, you’re fucking magnificent.”

Aziraphale didn’t fight him on it, this time. The angel just smiled back and let himself revel in the feeling of Crowley placing a hand behind his head and caressing his blonde curls with the kind of gentleness no one would expect from a demon.

Eventually –and reluctantly– Aziraphale pulled back.

“Well, you see me with the eyes of Love, dearest.”

It was now Crowley’s turn not to fight the other on his word, so the demon just stole a last, quick kiss.

“Let’s go home, angel.”

They held hands on the walk back to the Bentley and couldn’t stop smiling at each other.

“You know, angel… I’ve been thinking.”

“Oh dear, should I be worried?”

Crowley didn’t even bother feigning annoyance at the blatantly playful jab. Instead, he held the car door open like a proper gentleman and then settled into the car seat to look at Aziraphale as he carried on:

“We’ve probably scared off Above and Below for good, now… I mean, I half-melted Sandalphon and you’ve ruined Dagon’s hand…”

“Is this the part where the sentence gets a ‘but’?”

The demon bit his tongue to avoid dissolving into butt jokes, no matter how tempting they were.

“ _But_ … both our houses are well-known locations and, well… I was thinking we could do with a change of scenery, like— I— you— mh— you know… someplace that could be… ours. Instead of ‘my place’ or ‘your place’. Our— side. Our home.”

Aziraphale was momentarily impressed by the fact that, for once, Crowley had succeeded in digging himself _out_ of the gibberish he usually got captured into whenever he was nervous, then his mind registered the proposal for what it was.

It wasn’t as dramatic or as enraptured as _“We can run away together! Alpha Centauri!”_ but the spirit of it was very much the same.

“Oh, Crowley…”

“Sorry, it’s okay if you—”

“Yes!” Aziraphale almost shouted it, when he realized the demon was about to mistake his awe for a refusal. “Yes, I’ll go with you. Back to the bookshop, to Alpha Centauri, wherever you’ll have me!”

Crowley bit his lower lip for a moment, before remembering he _didn’t have to_ hide the stupid, love-struck look on his face anymore.

True, they were free to go anywhere they pleased, but they’d gone through too much to save Earth only to leave it for outer space.

His smile grew mischievous.

“Actually… it can get quite boring out there, this time of the year…” he said, making the Bentley purr to life, “But there’s this one place in the countryside I’ve been looking into…”

Aziraphale rested his hand over Crowley’s as the demon drove and let him talk. It all sounded rather lovely— a nice, quiet place in the countryside, a cottage perhaps, with enough space to keep all his books; and maybe Crowley could grow a garden… the very thought made him smile, but the angel knew, deep down, that it didn’t really matter: as long as they were together, any place would be their Eden.

Outer space could wait –they did, after all, have Eternity to spend together.


End file.
